All Fired Up (Stardust) Read Online Free Page B

wild, angry kid on a motorcycle – Star’s bad boy, Slo Larkin. He’d carried the title “rebel without a cause” to new heights. Or lows, depending on your perspective.
    But whatever the reason, the Bad Boy had it big and bad now. He had it hot and heavy. He was burning alive. He had to know if the one who’d started the blaze felt its heat, too.
    He mapped out a game plan en route through the door. He’d make plenty of noise on his way over, give her plenty of warning. If she bolted at his approach – if she truly was just a flustered kid – he’d have to leave her alone. He wasn’t that bad. But if she didn’t…
    Well, that would imply Foxy Roxy didn’t really want to be left alone.
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    All Roxanne had wanted was to sleep in the bathtub, to spend the night surrounded by nice, cool, uninflammable water. But the house had only one tub, and it had been commandeered for historical research.
    Kneeling by the tub with their sleeves rolled up, supposedly, and armed with an impressive array of bath toys (including a rubber ducky that went “squawk” when you squeezed it), Admiral Nelson and Admiral Byrd were studiously trying to recreate the sinking of the Spanish Armada. However, since neither gentleman had actually participated in that famous event, there was a good deal of bickering going on over the details. Aunt Lydia had taken a chair into the bathroom to watch them and referee the debate.
    It had to be Aunt Lydia, of course, because Lydia was the only one who could see and hear Admirals Nelson and Byrd in the first place. They were two of her ever-expanding entourage of invisible visitors.
    Dainty and agelessly lovely, Lydia Jones was an adorable woman, but certifiably crazy. Everyone knew this, but no one cared because she was always so sweet and cheerful, always the life of the party – as opposed to her guests, who were usually dead or those who’d never lived at all. In her younger years, Lydia had been a popular novelist and a devoted mother – raising seven children while writing dozens of romances – all of which may have helped push her over the edge. Now she lived in a fantasy world peopled by characters from the pages of history and classic literature. She was quite wacky, but also quite harmless.
    Which is more than anyone can say about me , Roxanne thought morbidly. The night’s naval battle had left her with no options save the downstairs’ shower stall, the kitchen sink, or the garden hose. And the latter allowed the most freedom of movement.
    Granted, the yard was a bit public, but at this late hour she figured it would be safe enough from prying eyes. There was rarely any traffic on the street after midnight; all the neighbors went to bed long before then. Mrs. Dixon definitely did, and since her grandson had been raised in Star, he was probably on the same schedule. A person’s internal biorhythm clock wouldn’t change just because they’d moved to the city, would it? It was like that old adage Faye Goodman had quoted the other day: “You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy.”
    Not that there seemed to be anything “country” about Slo Larkin. Come to think of it, there wasn’t anything boyish about him either. Which was why Roxanne was standing in the yard, hosing herself down – because he was a dangerously attractive Man, and she couldn’t stop thinking about him. He aroused needs she had repressed for years. Normal needs for a normal woman – romance, love, someone to build a life with – but she wasn’t normal and couldn’t have a romantic relationship with anyone. Least of all him. She wanted a quiet life in a quiet town, and Slo didn’t. He was bad news any way you sliced him.
    She glanced at the small gray house next door. All quiet. All dark. If he wasn’t asleep, at least the uncanny connection between them had finally fizzled out. Short-circuited from overload? A fire that hot couldn’t burn forever.
    She